You see all types at a swing dance. There are the lithe girls who seem to be able to disconnect their hips from the rest of their bodies and to make even the most mundane combinations look flourishy and accomplished. There are the guys that every girl wishes would ask her to dance, and the guys that, where ever they walk, will find that all the girls in the area have suddenly vanished to go get yet another drink of water, or to fix her shoes, or to catch up with those other girls across the room for the 16th time that night.

Every once in a while, there’s a total odd-ball. Take The Professor, for example. Nobody knows who he is, but he comes to dances with regularity that would make a Swiss watchmaker squirm with envy. He rarely dances, though apparently he attends the lessons. In fact, I’ve never seen him dance. I’ve only seen him walk around and around the dance floor with a clipboard tucked under his arm.

I think it’s the clipboard (and the solemn, studying expression, and the white hair, and the
v-neck sweater over white button-down shirt, and the pleated trousers) which earned him his nickname. He scrutinizes the dancers from all angles and occasionally slips the clipboard out from under his arm and makes notes, sometimes pausing to adjust the earplugs that peek out from his ears.

I wish I knew what he was doing, and what notes he takes. Is he watching people or the moves they do? Is he counting the number of dancers active during each song? Is he mapping the dance hierarchy to see which dancers have cart blanche to dance with anyone and which are locked into their own skill level? Is he studying the clothes we wear?

And yet, part of the social etiquette of the dance floor is that dancers do not interrogate other dancers unless they’ve been somehow introduced or danced together frequently. So since The Professor almost never dances, and nobody knows who he is, he has effectively protected himself from any direct questioning. Of course, the wondering is probably more fun than knowing, anyway.